


What A Lovely Way To Burn

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: All That Jazz [6]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: 1930's AU, Chanteuse, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Sex, Mobster AU, Nightclub AU, Romance, Smut, Smutty Makeout, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, butterfly bog, gangster au, mob boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a moment in her dressing room, Bog and Marianne finally confront the fire that’s been smoldering for so long…</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Lovely Way To Burn

**Author's Note:**

> The classic song "Fever" is actually from the 1950's and not the 1930's, but the lyrics were just far too perfect for the theme of this fanfic for me to not use it.

The city was already dark as Marianne made her way along the boulevard, the click of her heels echoing in the night. The street, thankfully empty, was awash in such a silvery cast of moonlight it made the normally grimy area look almost enchanted. The wrought metal and chipped brick of the warehouse buildings and storefronts of the neighborhood that Marianne’s little flat was located in could have been something out of a fairytale. 

Yet Marianne took no notice of the strange splendor of the night and merely put on foot in front of the other, her mind thrumming with other matters. No matter how hard she tried, she kept flashing back to The Dark Forest, to her dressing room, how they had stood so close and –

Oh  _God_ , she couldn’t believe it, after all this time, after leaving everything unspoken for so long, letting it simmer beneath the surface, both of them playing with fire, tonight, she had actually – they had –

Marianne exhaled, giddiness and anxiety rolled into one in her sigh.

They had kissed.

She had kissed the dreaded and grim Big Bad Boss Bog King.

He had kissed her back.

It was honestly the simplest thing.

Which, naturally, meant that Marianne was so twisted up with turmoil she could swear she felt literal knots in her stomach.

It hadn’t been a clash of passion, not dragged out of them in the midst of a fight simmering more with unspoken attraction than rage. That’s what Marianne –  _God help her_ \- had imagined.

But instead…

They had been in her dressing room, the club long since closed. He was about to leave for some ‘ _business’_ ; she had been about to depart for her flat. His jacket had been unbuttoned, his tie loosened, while most of her makeup had been washed off, her hair brushed out, her street apparel back on. He had stopped by to see what had gone down between Roland and her, having seen Marianne stalk away from the blonde mobster when he had tried to accost her.

Her cheeks had flushed when he had asked, but he had merely leaned against her vanity, giving her a searching look. “Do you need me to say something?”

She shook her head, torn between gratitude at his offer and determination not to let Roland win in any way. “I can take care of myself. I’ve handled Roland this far, I can keep at it.”

Bog had glanced away at that, those blue eyes of his looking faintly troubled, before continuing, his normally rough voice soft, “I don’t know what went down, but…I’m assuming you two have history?”

Marianne snorted sourly, rolling her eyes. “You could say that.” She paused, before continuing more softly, “He’s my ex-fiancé. I ended the engagement, and Roland’s never learned to take no for an answer.”

Bog had stared at her, clearly not expecting that. He looked away again, and swallowed, the long lean line of his throat working. “You…you were going to marry him?” The unspoken  _‘Why?’_  hung in the air, and Marianne flinched a bit, remembering her giddy naïveté, her joyful, willful blindness.

She shrugged a shoulder, attempting for a blasé air. “Roland’s a charmer; he’s a got a bunch of people fooled. Once upon a time, I was one of them. But…I learned my lesson.”

“Sounds like it was a tough lesson to learn,” Bog murmured, watching her face intently.

She gave a dry laugh. “The important ones always are.”

Bog, no stranger to the truth of that sentiment, gave a soft snort. She betrayed a smile, almost tentative, and the normally hard line of his mouth had softened, not into that slant of a grin that always sent a shiver down her back, but something almost…tender.

Marianne looked away, feeling her heart twist. It was one thing to play with fire; it was something else entirely to stick your hand into the flames. She ran a hand through her hair and remembered what she had been about to tell him before he had asked about Roland. “I, uh…I wanted to thank you. For making sure Dawn got home that night. Normally she doesn’t drink like that.  _At all._  But…I guess being in this part of town, at a real nightclub…it made her want to test her limits.”

“A trait that you seem to share.” Though Bog’s tone was mocking, his grin wasn’t.

Marianne rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop her own grin. “Yeah, well…thank you. For looking after her. I…I appreciate that.”

He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “Anyone would have done it.”

“Not everyone.” The words were out before she could stop herself, and he looked at her sharply. Marianne looked down before continuing on in a murmur. “You think that they would, think that you know them, but…people disappoint you.” She gave a sudden, soft laugh. “I guess I never thought of a Mob Boss being a Knight in Shining Armor.”

Bog gave a slight groan, though his lips got a twist of a smile to them. “And here I thought you were complimenting me, Tough Girl.”   

She had laughed, and he had joined in, and she couldn’t help but marvel over the whole talk, how easy it had been, so free of the normal barbs of wit they liked to exchange with each other in the past. But then…

Their eyes had met again, and something in the room  _changed._

Whatever laughter or words between them had melted away into a silence that seemed to throb with… _something_ , something warm and forbidden but so deeply wanted.  His eyes – those beautiful blue eyes, it seemed so strange sometimes that such a dangerous and feared man could have eyes that were so lovely, so achingly vulnerable at times – continued to gaze into hers, his smile slowly disappearing, his expression getting a quiet intensity to it, before his eyes had flicked down to her mouth, her lips still rosy with the stain of her rouge…

Marianne had felt her heart give a sudden, almost pained throb, making her inhale quickly, and his eyes darted back up to hers, a rawness to them that spoke of fear but also need, and -

He had moved to her, reaching out a hand, and oh God, she had started taking that last little step closer to him –

Yet almost as soon as he had made the gesture, Bog curled his fingers into a fist and backed away, letting his hand drop to his side. He looked angry with himself, want and regret warring on his face. Marianne hadn’t been able to look away, her heart thudding.

“You…” Bog exhaled, letting his eyes shut briefly, before he continued, his tone almost morose with resignation. “You should go home, Mari-  _Fairfield_. Stay out of trouble.”

Marianne had gazed up at him, eyes liquid in the light of her mirror. “Yeah…” she murmured, “I should. But…”

“But what?”

“I’ve never been all that good at staying out of trouble.” She met his gaze, unabashed and unafraid, letting her meaning sink in.

He had stared at her, his shoulders tense, his breath caught in his throat.

Both of them had moved at the same time, her stepping to him, him reaching for her, and she had placed her hand in his without a second thought, and he tugged her to him, both of them wanting, both of them surrendering, their lips meeting –

Their kiss hadn’t been lustful or frantic or any kind of wild. It was slow and sweet, full of a quiet hunger they were finally admitting to, and  _oh_ , it wasn’t like what she had imagined all those nights in her bed  _at all_. It was so much  _more,_  making her heartbeat thunder, her blood thrumming like electricity was striking a raw nerve, humming through her with each brush of his lips.

As she walked, Marianne’s was able to ignore how horribly her feet ached as her mind swam, reliving each sensation – the rasp of his stubble on her cheek, the taste of him, tobacco and bourbon and something inexplicably and intoxicatingly  _wild,_  the soft, almost whisper of a moan that had escaped him and passed through her…

And then after the kiss…

Marianne sighed and kicked at a pebble, almost to her flat. After the kiss it had been like waking up from a dream, hazy and slow, the gentle warmth of the moment clinging to the both of them. Marianne’s eyes had slowly drifting open to gaze up into his, an undeniable flush to her cheeks. The sight of Bog, honest to God dazed, was one that she would never forget. She was sure that some people would declare such a thing impossible. But then, Marianne was willing to bet that those same people had no idea that the infamous Big Bad Boss Bog could kiss so tenderly, that those gorgeous eyes could get so clouded with such aching need…

The surreal wonder of the moment had hung between them, as tangible and fragile as spider silk, undisturbed and almost magical, soft and strange. Marianne couldn’t stop her exhale, her emotions gusting out of her in that sigh, her mouth gently curving in a small smile of dazed euphoria.

Bog had stared down at her, seemingly struck speechless over the sight of her slowly burgeoning delight, before his own lips quirked in a slight, almost shy grin of thrilled disbelief, and his eyes had grown bright with something so painfully beautiful Marianne almost had to look away, it had pierced her heart so.

But the enormity of what had just occurred hit them both at the same time, and then…

Marianne finally reached the stoop of her apartment building - far from the hovel her father made it out to be, yet still on the humble side – before sighing warily to herself and making her way up the steps and through the door. She leaned against the heavy oak frame with its peeling paint, gathering herself, and then began to trudge the usual journey up the long, winding, dimly lit stairs, gnawing at her lip, caught in a paroxysm of emotion.

They had stared at each other, the delicious warmth of the moment seeping away as cold reality returned to both of them. They had kissed. They had kissed and it had been wonderful and  _now what the hell were they going to do?_

Apparently, in Marianne’s case, run away.

Marianne scowled. Alright, she hadn’t  _technically_  run away, hadn’t done anything so cowardly and cruel, but…fidgeting with her coat and avoiding his gaze before giving a lame little “Bye!” and scampering from the room was still far from what  _should_  have happened.

_And what **should**  have happened? Throw yourself into his arms and beg him to have his wild and wicked and wonderful way with you? Act like some swoony Romantic Heroine?_

But he had watched her go, hadn’t stopped her, though he may have been still been dumbstruck over what had just happened and –

Oh God, what was she getting into?

Finally reaching her floor, Marianne let out a groan of fatigue as well as frustration. It had all been so much simpler before. She hadn’t been afraid to tease him, test him, make that hard and grim front crack when she played up the part of the Chanteuse. She liked to play with fire, both of them had known that, had enjoyed it on some unspoken level, but this…this was…

_It was too real._

Marianne shoulders slumped as she made her way down the hall to her door. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? It was all fine and fair to play at being some kind of Tough Girl, but the moment she had given in, the moment she had dared to bare her heart and let that kiss sweep through her in such a mighty wave it made her soul shiver…

She ran the risk of getting hurt once more. Then it wasn’t playing with fire, it was trying to navigate the flames. She…she didn’t want to get hurt.

But…she also didn’t want to turn her back on him, not after that, not with the taste of him still on her lips, remembering how it had felt to be held in his arms, like she was something precious, loved –

_No._

She shook her head, annoyed and twisted with turmoil. She couldn’t even  _think_ of going down that road, too much pain, too much risk -

Reaching her door, Marianne sighed and unlocked it, the click of key in the lock sounding loud in the empty corridor. Normally it was welcome, meaning she was home after a long day, but now it only served as a dull reminder that she was coming back to an empty home, an empty kitchen…an empty, cold bed…

Marianne flipped on the lights and kicked off her heels, rubbing her feet and muttering to herself. Having her own place was something that she was very proud of, and she wasn’t going to let her moodiness erase that. Her father hadn’t been at all pleased that Marianne felt she could live on her own, what with no man to protect her in such a rough neighborhood. But Marianne had fought hard; saving up whatever money she could so no one could excuse her of being some Rich Girl playing around whilst Daddy’s money took care of everything. The flat was modest, not at all like the luxurious mansion Dawn still lived in with Father, but…it was clean and cozy and pleasant and all hers, and Marianne always felt a little glow of pride and thankfulness whenever she opened that door. Except for tonight, apparently…

Her feet still aching in protest, Marianne went over to her little kitchen and opened up the pantry, reaching past all the canned goods till she found exactly what she was looking for. Clutching the bottle of whiskey, she snagged a glass from the shelves and sat down at her table. Pouring herself a shot, Marianne quickly slugged it down, before staring at the bottle broodingly. She was being silly, she didn’t need to get in such a state over this, it had just been a kiss…

A kiss with Bog.

Who happened to be one of the most infamous mobsters around.

And, Marianne was beginning to realize with a helpless sort of resignation, whom she had been growing steadily more and more desperately attracted to…

Marianne groaned once again and let her head sink to the tabletop. She needed another drink. No…sleep. She needed to sleep.

She got up, making the weary trek to her bedroom, when the telephone rang suddenly. Marianne paused – who would be calling so late? Dawn, undoubtedly. Her little sister knew that Marianne now kept late nights. Unless it was Roland. It would be just like him, to pester her Father for her phone number and try to sweet-talk her after their little encounter tonight…

Marianne could practically hear his smooth drawl and scowled, marching into her room, determinedly ignoring the persistent ring. Roland could go to hell in a hand basket. She had enough on her plate without him making another unwanted appearance. 

She undressed in the dark, the moon giving enough light through her window to see. She pulled on her one still clean nightgown and slid underneath her quilt, the silky feel of the embroidered roses soft beneath her touch, her cool sheets a soothing relief against her aching joints. She leaned back, sinking into her pillows, and stared at the ceiling without really seeing it.

What would happen tomorrow? She and Bog would see each other; there was no doubt of that.

The real question was…did she  _want_  to see him again?

Marianne shifted in bed, wishing she could simply ignore the questions tumbling one right after the other. But after a few minutes of tossing and turning, tugging at her blankets and punching her pillow, she found herself growing still. No matter how many anxieties she suffered…she knew what she wanted, knew the answer.

_Yes._

Yes, she wanted to see him, and badly. While she had no idea of what would come, what they would say to each other tomorrow, the feeling that swelled within her at the thought of seeing Bog once more…it wasn’t one of twisting anxiety, but a hesitant yet undeniably pleasurable thrill, fragile but real. She wanted to see him, didn’t want to run from him.

And for her to admit that to herself…

Marianne knew that she was getting in deep, maybe even in over her head, the water closing in over her, jumping from the pan to the flames, but…

She suspected, in some secret little part of her bruised heart, that it – _he_  – would be worth it.

It wouldn’t make it any less awkward, of course. But as Marianne let her eyes drift closed, the moonlight glowing at the foot of her bed, her quiet little sigh was one of contentment, and a gentle smile was on her lips as the memory of a rougher pair brushing over them came to her once more…

* * *

_“Sun lights up the daytime…”_

Marianne gently swung her hips as she crossed the stage, letting the slow, sultry rhythm sink into her bones and guide her movements. It was only early afternoon, and the rehearsal was going swimmingly, which meant the show tonight would be a piece of cake. 

_“Moon lights up the night…”_

Sunny played on, letting his fingers slide over the piano, a pleased smile on his face. He had been eager to try this song, and Marianne was finding she quite liked it too. She permitted herself a small grin at Sunny before she dropped once more into the smolder she usually had when singing, her eyes going heavy lidded.

_“I light up when you call my name,_

_And you know I’m gonna treat you right…”_

It really was a shame that they couldn’t perform this for tonight’s show, but the smoky, seductive slide of the music suited her voice just fine, and Marianne knew she could put on a hell of a performance. This would  _definitely_  be a number to sprawl on top of the piano for…

She sank against the beautiful baby grand, the black lacquer shining under the lights like obsidian, letting her body curve against it languidly, her eyes closed in faux- rapture as she continued her song.

  _“You give me fever_

_When you kiss me,_

_Fever when you hold me –“_

She opened her eyes to throw a burning glance to the empty tables and chairs and came to an abrupt halt, her voice catching in her throat and her heart seizing in her chest.

Bog was down on the floor, his back facing the stage, addressing Stuff and Thang, a curtness to his voice though she couldn’t make out his words. It was the first she had seen of him all day, and the sight of his tall, lean frame, imposing even in his shirtsleeves -

“Marianne! What the heck, why did you –“

“ _Sorry!_  I’m so sorry Sunny, I just got, uh, distracted –“ Marianne floundered, her mind racing. She didn’t know why she was so thrown, she had known she was going to see him, he owned the damn place. “I just, uh, need to…”

Marianne’s agitation caught Thang’s attention, and he gave her cheerful wave. “Afternoon, Miss Marianne! You sound lovely!”

Marianne grinned – it was hard to believe such a timid little sweetheart like Thang was one of Bog’s underlings. “Thank you, Thang.” She wriggled her fingers at Stuff, who nodded back good-naturedly, “Afternoon, Stuff. ”

Marianne paused before continuing on, a bit shyly, “Mister King.”  

Bog turned, glancing over a shoulder to the stage. His eyes met Marianne’s and as soon as she saw the blue of them, she felt a warm shiver go down her spine, remembering dizzily how they had gazed into hers’ last night, the want in them both vulnerable and fierce…

Even though she wasn’t wearing one of her slinky show numbers, Marianne still felt exposed under his scrutiny. Not sure what else to do, she gave him a smile, far softer than her usual smirk for him.

He looked at her, taking her in with her nervous shifting and her hesitant grin, and the grim line of his mouth grew inexplicably thinner. When he met her eyes once more, Marianne felt a nasty jolt when she saw a hardness there that she had never seen before.

Without a single reply to her greeting, Bog turned back to Stuff and Thang and continued issuing orders to them.

Marianne felt rather like she had been thrown into icy water. Feeling the numbness of shock creeping through her body, she quickly looked away from him, turning back to the piano, reaching for the pitcher of water that Sunny kept on a little tray. Hoping that the tremor in her hands wasn’t noticeable, she poured herself a glass and gulped it down. He had never looked at her like  _that_  before, like she had hurt him, what had happened that made him look at her like that –

 _Oh God, the kiss_. He didn’t think she regretted it, surely?

Oh God… _he_  didn’t regret it, did he?

“Marianne, you alright? Do you want to continue?”

Marianne started and looked at Sunny, his expression both confused and honestly concerned. The number, she had to keep –

“Yeah, yes of course, we need to continue –“ Marianne set the glass down with a hard clink, not caring if the water left a mark on the piano, and crossed across the stage, her heels clicking across the floor a touch viciously. She wasn’t angry, she  _wasn’t_ , she was confused and hurt and she had no idea why he was being so  _cold_  - “C’mon, let’s go back to the start –“

Sunny, still looking puzzled, nonetheless obliged her, singing the first few bars.  _“Never know how much you love me –“_

Bog motioned to Stuff and Thang to follow him, striding out, evidently all too eager to leave the room and get away from her. Marianne stared after him before snapping her eyes forward, feeling a horrible burn in her gut and a slight prickle to her eyes. What had made him so  _angry_  with her?

A sharp plink from the piano made Marianne look up. Cocking an eyebrow at her, Sunny once again played the starting vamp over, and Marianne knew she had to focus. As the door to the back of the club slammed, she clenched her fists.  _I’m not gonna let this lie, Boss Man._

_“Never know how much you love me_

_Never know how much you care…”_

* * *

He was not out on the floor when she performed that night.

Standing in front of her vanity and combing out her hair, Marianne reflected, rather savagely, that she had gotten far too used to seeing him at the back of the club, tucked away – he didn’t like the chattering crowd, only sat near the stage that one night so long ago…She never asked him why he didn’t anymore though she suspected her flagrant teasing might have had something to do with it. But whether at he was at some secluded table or at the bar, she had always been able to find him, her eyes catching his across the crowded room full of smoke and shadows…

Marianne had given a sultry enough performance that night, and though some patrons felt it warranted some catcalls along with the usual appreciative applause, anyone who was familiar with how she sang would have known that she was distracted, unable to give her whole body and soul to the song. Normally it was so easy, sinking into the luxurious thrall of the piano, knowing that she was safe under his gaze if one of those catcallers got too eager –

She gritted her teeth she swept her brush through her hair, the club long since closed. She was still in her dress, but the silky midnight blue fabric no longer seemed to hug her curves sensually, but instead weighed her down, the lavish beading of the bodice and hem dragging at her frame. Each sensation – the brush of her hem across her calves, the tickle of her hair across her bared back, the lights that burning so brightly along her vanity mirrors edge – seemed to prick at Marianne, making her want to snarl. She was going to get into an absolutely rotten mood and stay like for the rest of the night if she wasn’t careful.

But there was only one way to take care of that.

Marianne sighed, setting down her brush. She had to talk to him.

She ran a hand through her locks, before taking a deep breath and spinning on her heel, her shoes clacking on the wooden floor. Might as well do it while she had her dander up; give him a little bit of the grief he had given her.

She knew where to find him – he usually stayed behind in his office, a dark and rather macabre area she was certain most people never dared to go. Many a night she had passed by the large, imposing door – the only doorway he didn’t have to duck for – and saw him sitting and slouching over his desk. She had always thrown some remark at him while on her way out – “it’s bad to read in the dark, you know” – and had always gotten a snort or a raised brow or a smirk in return. But she had never actually gone in…

Marianne paused just before the heavy door, open to the hallway as it normally was after hours, and smoothed her hands over her dress and her hair, wishing she could check if she had any lipstick on her teeth. Not that it  _mattered_  what she looked like, she just didn’t want to make a fool out of herself when giving him hell, is all. She squared her shoulders, glad for the empty hallway so no one could witness her nerves, and stepped up to the door, leaning against the frame and getting a good look at Bog.

He was hunched over, pouring over some kind of sheets – probably race racketeering reports, she knew that some of the money came in through that – and he seemed completely unaware of her presence, engrossed in his work. The usual glass of bourbon was by him, and Marianne wondered if he was beginning to get back into the stuff again in a heavy way…

She studied his face, biting at her lip. The severe angles and sharp lines of his face were in thrown into relief under the light of his desk lamp, and his eyes were shadowed. He looked grim and dark and harsh, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to expose the scars he had there. He looked…tired. Tired and unhappy.

Marianne gave a nearly silent sigh. It was now or never – it wouldn’t do to let her extremely justified anger falter by getting concerned for him.  _C’mon, Tough Girl._

She rapped on the frame. “Hey there.”

Bog looked up sharply, clearly startled that she had snuck up on him. His wide eyes skated over her, taking in the smooth curve of her body as she settled against the frame. Folding her arms and cocking an eyebrow at him, Marianne could have sworn that she saw a slight catch at his throat. But then he lifted his own brow at her in return, perfectly sardonic. His eyes weren’t any warmer, but the hardness was gone, so…maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to pry an answer out of him.

He looked down at his work again. “Fairfield.” His voice was cool – or, at least, attempting to be cool.  She knew him well enough by now that she could pick up the subtleties in his tones. Right now, he was surprised, thrown to see her, but not so much that he couldn’t make a decent attempt to mask it. But it was the  _Fairfield_  that made her lips purse. So she wasn’t Tough Girl anymore, huh? Never mind he had been so close to calling her by her real name last night –

Bog looked up at her, noting her silence and staring, and his eyes started to betray a slight unease. “Why are you still –“

“You know why.”  Marianne’s voice was quiet but brooked no argument.

Bog eyes returned to his work, but his jaw was definitely clenched. “You should go home.”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen until I get some answers.”

Bog sighed. “There’s nothing to –“

Marianne pushed herself away from the doorframe and sauntered into the office, noting that for all its darkness, it was actually rather spacious, enough room to comfortably house a wing-backed couch, its leather worn and cracked, and two aged wooden chairs. “You’re angry at me.”

Bog still refused to look at her. “No, I’m not –“

Marianne wanted to stamp her foot, she was so frustrated. “Yes, you  _are_ , and I don’t know why!”

Bog suddenly pushed himself away from his chair, and Marianne was once again struck by how  _tall_  he was, and for one dizzy moment she thought he was going to come at her, but instead he turned away and reached for a ledger book on the shelf behind his desk. When he spoke, she could tell his teeth were gritted, his accent a touch thicker, and she knew she was definitely getting to him. “Look, it’s been a long day, so why don’t you go and get some sleep, and  _leave me alone_  –“

“Fat chance,” Marianne retorted, her heels clicking hard against the floor as she stepped closer. His shoulders were tense, and she knew he was close to either exploding with fury or caving. She stopped by his desk, and her voice was a mix of frustration and honest bewilderment and something else, something raw and vulnerable that she wasn’t keen on trying to decipher. “Look, I don’t…I don’t know  _what_  I did, or what  _you_  think I did, I truly don’t…”

He still didn’t turn to face her, but she could see a slight softening in his stance, and she pushed on. “Was…did Roland cause some more trouble because of me? Or…” she hesitated, feeling herself flush, but continued on, “Is this…is this about our –“

“I called you.” He finally turned to her, crossing his arms. He glanced at her, his mouth tense but his eyes betraying how he really felt. “Last night. I…I wanted to know if you got home safe.”

Marianne stared at him, and her heart gave a hard little thud. Oh God, it had been  _him_  last night –  _he had been worried for her_  –

“And…when you didn’t pick up, I thought maybe…” He sighed roughly, and looked away, the profile of his face sharp as ever. “And then you waltzed into the club today like everything was fine, and –“ He stopped abruptly, and rubbed a long-fingered hand at the back of his neck. His expression became somewhat shamefaced. “…I got angry, yeah.”

Still feeling stunned, Marianne wasn’t sure what to say to that but tried anyway. “I…I thought it was Dawn, or even Roland…” She bit her lip when she saw the wariness in his eyes. For someone who commanded such fearful respect, there was a vast swath of insecurity behind that stoic, snarling façade, and if he had thought she had been avoiding him…

Marianne sighed, leaning slightly on the desk. “There was no way of me knowing it was you, but if I had…” She looked away. “I-I guess I’m just not used to having people worry about me.” It was true – the downside to having a well-earned reputation of a no-nonsense, rebellious spitfire was that almost no one thought she was ever in need of help, never mind if she would even accept it.

But Bog was different, had proven himself to be different…

Seeing he was still a bit tense, Marianne gave a shrug of one shoulder and a tiny grin. “Obviously, I got back safe. Lived to see another day and all that jazz. Stayed out of trouble.”

Bog betrayed a slight grin at that before his gaze turned inward, his expression getting a melancholic, guarded look. “Not so sure about that, Tough Girl…” he muttered, and she knew immediately what he meant.

On some level, Marianne knew that she was tempting fate, what with how she was repeating so many things that had led to that kiss - meeting him after hours, being alone together, though it was in his office now and not her dressing room. But…they still needed to talk about what happened.

“I told you before, I’m not good at staying out of it,” she replied, and Bog tensed at that before she continued on, her voice softening into a murmur. “And the truth is…I like it. Trouble and I get along just fine.” 

The words were glib but her tone was not, and Marianne watched Bog’s throat work as he took his time with coming up with a response to that.

“If you’re looking for trouble, Tough Girl, you’ve come to the right place, but…” He sighed, looking so very torn. “You need to know, need to understand, I don’t want you to – you don’t have to –“

“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t have to do a damn thing.” Marianne replied, not breaking her gaze away from him. “At least nothing I don’t want to do.”

He closed his eyes briefly at that, and she saw his fingers twitch a bit, as though coming alive with ideas at her words, but Bog nonetheless tried to stay strong. “Last night…” He looked away before murmuring, “it doesn’t have to mean anything. I won’t…I won’t hold you to it. It can just be a mistake, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Marianne felt a sharp pain along with a hot, bubbling anger – was he _so_ determined to keep himself miserable? “It damn well did mean something!”

Bog flinched but doggedly continued. “We were both tired, and I made the first move –“

Marianne’s sigh was rich with frustration. “You want me to tell you that you took advantage of me? Or that I set out to seduce you or something? We both know that’s not what happened –“

Bog strode to the middle of the room, agitated. “It was a moment of impulse –“ 

“Yeah, it was.” Marianne shrugged, trying to ignore how her heart was hammering. “But…we both did it. And…” she looked away from him, gathering her nerve before continuing in a softer voice. “…I don’t regret it.”

Bog stared at her, and the look in his eyes…Marianne felt the same sweet pain from the night before once again pierce her heart.

“You…” Bog inhaled, his voice soft and rough and so honestly stunned. “You don’t regret it?”

“ _No.”_  Marianne’s voice was empathetic. “And despite your attempts at some idiotic noble guilt, I know you don’t either.”

Bog sighed at that, running a hand over his face, and Marianne remembered how those long fingers had felt, curled at the base of her skull, cradling her as they had kissed, and she felt her heart twist. She wasn’t going to let that get away from her, let him get away…

He looked at her, and then away, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re doing…” he muttered.

“Pretty sure that I do.” She noted absentmindedly that she was drifting away from the desk and toward where he stood in the middle of the office. “I’ve been told I’m quite the clever girl.”

Despite himself, Bog let out a chuckle at that, and Marianne joined him as they remembered the nickname he had given her, snarling it out in sheer frustration. The sound of his laugh, low and rich and rough and warm, sent a warm gush through her. But it was the sight of him - long legs, lean but broad shoulders, standing there so tall and powerful, the wiry muscles of his forearms, the blue of his eyes almost glowing in the dim light  - that was making Marianne feel the same warmth of their kiss, only now it was building, intensifying, a slow and delicious smoldering in the pit of her gut, a molten fire pooling in her –

When Bog looked at her once more, she saw how he took her in, letting his eyes travel over the curve of her legs as she walked to him, the slide of her dress across her hips, the slender arch of her neck, all her pale, exposed skin… and she knew he felt the same. As his gaze paused to her lips, she licked them without even meaning to, and felt something throb in her as his eyes darkened at that. Bog’s eyes already had a dangerous effect on her; seeing them with such a distinctly hungry glint made Marianne almost faint with need. Her heart was racing…

She came to a soft stop, facing him, and once again, the room was charged with that unspoken  _something_ , that forbidden warmth, that burning want. It was so tangible Marianne could have sworn that she felt her skin get flushed, flooding through her like a fever, like a fire. If they went further, would everything collapse into ashes? It was dangerous… though then again, they both thrived on danger.

It was overwhelming and ridiculous; they had only  _talked_ , nothing had happened, nothing like last night. But as smoldering brown eyes drowned in equally lost blue ones, as her pulse fluttered like a butterfly and Bog tightened his fists as if to stop himself from reaching for her, as their bodies moved even closer, nearly touching, the heat from the other palpable…Marianne desperately wanted  _something_  to happen.

Something so much more than a kiss.

Oh God, she really  _was_  in trouble.

Something must have flashed across her face at that thought, because Bog exhaled, before giving a dry, almost bitter laugh. He looked at her, and any humor in his face faded, leaving pained stoicism behind. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t sardonic, but full of quiet concern for her as well as an acceptance that spoke of a painful familiarity of losing what the heart wanted. “Still playing with fire, Tough Girl?”

Marianne looked up at him, mouth tense and eyes full of raw vulnerability and desperate hope, and knew there was only one answer she could give. “You’re not gonna burn me.”

She curled a hand around his collar and tugged him to her, already raising her face to his, lips parting.

Any further resistance melted away from Bog as she kissed him, slowly, sweetly, letting herself languish in every single sensation. A tremor went through Bog when she gently tugged at his lip, giving a soft, needy sigh and  _oh God, to **hell**  with it_, nobility only stood for so long when faced with ravenous need, and damn him, he had been starving for this, for  _her_ , too long –

Bog wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and tight against him, and let out a rough sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan. Marianne’s eyes fluttered closed as she gave an answering moan, sinking against his tall frame, twining her arms around him. She pushed hungry, exploring fingers into his hair, and he shuddered at her touch before deepening the kiss. As his tongue stroked against hers, she groaned, clinging to him desperately before answering in kind, the taste of him sending her already burning nerves into a heady blaze. Bog shuddered once more.  _Christ_ , everything she did, the effect it had on him…

Marianne palmed a sharp cheekbone, cradling his face closer, each touch of his taking her higher – his long, wickedly strong fingers running down her back, tracing the dip of her spine, the bump of his nose against her own as he angled his mouth over hers to go deeper, the slight drag of his sharp teeth on her lips, the rough velvet of his tongue caressing hers –

Marianne’s knees went weak, and she clung to him, a whimper going through her. Roland’s kisses had never done this to her, _never_ , it was like comparing a matchstick to an inferno –

The kiss was heating up, becoming even more intense, their bodies in such a desperately entwined embrace it wasn’t clear where he ended and she began. Sinking his fingers into impossibly silky hair, Bog knew that if one of them didn’t stop, it would become something more, something dangerous, something that both of them fiercely wanted but would never be able to come back from. But oh,  _God_ , it was so hard to stop when she was making him melt, her fingers dragging through his hair down to his neck –  _oh Jesus, if she got to his spine_  – and making those little gaspy noises of need –

Marianne twisted in his arms, wanting every inch of him on her, over her, aching to have that lean, strong body covering her own, but he was so _tall_ and there was only so much that heels and standing on tip-toes could give a girl and –  _oh yeah, the couch._

She quickly grabbed his collar with both fists and pushed him backwards, hoping her intent was clear. Bog, knowing damn well what she was after, let himself be walked back, the path slow and stumbling since both refused to end their kiss, caught up in hungry passion. Just as the back of his knees were about to hit the edge of couch, Bog spun them around and it was Marianne who found herself sinking down onto the worn leather arm of the couch, her heart skipping a beat.

She briefly wondered if she should simply fall back, recline in hungry invitation and hope that Bog would get the right idea. Instead, she felt a sharp and utterly delicious thrill when Bog, his palm warm and rough against her back, palmed her jaw with his other hand and continued to kiss her, lowering her gently to the cushions. His body bent with hers, bracing himself above her on one forearm, and he leaned back up to survey her, like an animal with its prey. And truly, he looked almost predatory with how hungry his eyes were, panting a bit to catch his breath. Marianne felt a stab of arousal at the sight and yanked on his tie, already loose, to pull him down to her.

Other than a small grunt, Bog wasn’t all that fussed at her manhandling, especially when Marianne started to kiss a hot and ravenous trail along his jaw, his stubble rasping under her lips, before reaching his mouth. She kissed him like she wanted to devour him, and Bog had to break away, burrow his face in the crook of her neck to calm his racing heart. He took a deep and shaky breath, inhaling her in, her musky floral perfume and the smoke of the club still clinging to her, he should have watched her tonight –

Marianne writhed under him, and Bog bit back a groan at how her body arched under his and holy  _hell,_  talk about the danger of playing with flames, he was so damn hot for her. He let his head drop to her chest and licked across the smooth line of her collarbone, Marianne shuddering helplessly beneath him. 

“Sorry – _mph_  – that I didn’t –  _mmm_  – see ye tonight –“ he managed to get out as he kissed and mouthed his way up the smooth line of her neck, savoring her, and how could skin taste  _so damn mouthwatering?_   

“You can -  _ah_  – make it –  _oooh, yes_  – up to me,” Marianne gasped out, the fire in her getting even more rampant, sucking in a sharp breath when he reached her ear and nipped at it. Her eyes squeezed shut and her fingers bit into his back when he sucked on the earlobe, tracing the curve with his tongue. Her moan at that was positively indecent. “ _Bog_  –“

“ _Marianne,”_  and  _oh,_ hearing him say her name,  _finally_ , after all this time, and in such desperate and thickened tones, raised goose-bumps on her skin. She reflected through a haze of desire that hearing her say his name was probably affecting him just as badly. Sharp nails dragged down her side, catching at beads and grabbing at her hip. “ _Oh God, Marianne -_ “

Marianne cut him off with another greedy kiss - hearing him speak her name like  _that_ , like she was something wonderful, something precious and wanted, it  _did_ things to her that she didn’t even know were possible. She brazenly wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him to her, the hot ache in her groin desperate for satisfaction.

Pressed up against her, her leg holding her to him in a deliciously demanding grip, Bog felt himself grow hard when the moist heat of her burned through the layers of their clothes. He hissed out a breath as she rocked her hips against his, shallow but still insistent. “ _Wait –“_

Marianne moaned, a mix of want and dismay. “Bog,  _c’mon_  –“

“No, just…” He pulled himself away from her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate if he didn’t get at least a few inches between their bodies. He looked down at her and almost swore. Marianne Fairfield may have been a girl born to the finer things in life, but  _goddamn_  did this Rich Girl do a worn old couch justice, her fancy dress rumpled, her eyes heavy lidded and burning. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and when she licked bitten and moist lips Bog quickly tried to marshal his thoughts, his body wracked with throbbing want. “We…we shouldn’t –“

_“Oh hell yes we should –!“_

_“We shouldn’t do this here,”_  he finished, a touch desperately, and Marianne’s look of outrage melted into hungry curiosity, though there was a still a wariness in her gaze.

“What…” she shifted a bit, a soft guardedness to her voice. “What are you saying?”

“There’s…uh, it’s just, um…there’s a bed. In a room. Upstairs. I’ve, uh, stay there most of the time if I’m here late, and, if you…uh…” Bog nearly flinched, knowing the unspoken implications – staying on the couch meant that they didn’t have to go all the way, that she could back out, but a bed…

But he had to ask,  _he had to_ , a girl like her deserved more than getting screwed on a ratty couch, and besides, his legs were too long for it.

He braced himself for her refusal, but Marianne merely grinned up at him, delight and triumph and want making her eyes shine. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Bog experienced a sharp thrill of disbelief before a curl of arousal flamed through him, and he gave her a sharp grin before scrambling off of the couch and tugging her up, pulling her to him once more. They sank into another kiss, and now it was Bog who was pulling her along, grabbing at the keys on his desk as they passed it, and he could feel her grinning into the kiss.  _Holy hell, this was happening, she wanted this, wanted **him** , this was actually happening –_

Stumbling out into the hall, they ended up bumping and crashing into the walls of the corridor multiple times on their way to the stairwell, increasingly caught up in their embrace. Somehow they made it, slamming against the wall next to the door to the stairs. Pressed up against it, Bog fumbled with the lock as Marianne moaned into his mouth and raked her hands down his back, making him shiver and gripping her to him even more tightly, pulling her up to him. Marianne let out a purr as her body slid against his, heat singing through her as she felt how he was reacting to her, and she shamelessly let herself grind against him as she kissed him, tongue stroking against his.

Bog shuddered hard and helplessly, before a thought occurred to him. He broke away from the kiss, panting. “Wait –“

She groaned. “Bog,  _seriously,_  I want this -!”

“I know, I know you do,” he assured her. “It’s just…are you – I mean, is this your, uh, first -?”

His meaning took a while to sink through, and Marianne’s eyes widened with realization. “Yes, it is,” she replied, and her voice got a bit sharp. “Why does that matter?” If he stopped because she was a virgin, she swore to God she would –

“It matters because I want to make sure that I don’t hurt you,” Bog murmured, his voice and face serious as he looked down at her, even as he tried to catch his breath and brushed a stray lock away from her face.

 _Oh_. Marianne relaxed in his arms. “And…if it- if you do?”

“Then you tell me straight away and I swear to you that I’ll stop.” His eyes nearly burned her with the sheer earnestness in them.

Marianne felt such a deep wave of gratitude and nerves and want that it almost made her sway. He meant it, he wanted her to feel safe, he cared about her that much,  _no one had ever_  –

“Deal,” she declared, running her hands up his chest before tugging at his collar. “Now kiss me.”

Bog, his worries momentarily assuaged, obliged her, groaning deep in his throat at the kiss, open-mouthed and demanding. Each brush of her tongue and breathy sigh sent his blood thrumming with heat and how the  _hell_  did a grim old bastard like him get so damn lucky? “So this isn’t too fast for you -?” He murmured against her mouth, even as his body screamed at him to  _stop asking questions, just bloody enjoy it, you git!_

“No,” she murmured back, punctuating her statement by tugging at his lip, sucking it, making him moan in rough rapture and claim her mouth in a hot and languid kiss, dragging his fingers down the silky smooth skin of her back.  

Even as his caresses continued to drug her senses, Marianne knew she was speaking the truth – so what if they had only had their first kiss last night? So what if he was older and her boss and she was younger and inexperienced? This was long overdue and oh God, it was actually happening, she was actually doing it, she was literally going to be sleeping with her boss – well, not her Boss, but her boss who happened to be a Boss – hell, what did it matter, he was Bog, and she wanted him, and she could feel how badly he wanted her, pressing against her –

Bog tried to collect himself enough, remembering that after making all that fuss about not continuing this on the couch he couldn’t very well fuck her in the hallway, and once again tried to reach the lock to the door, shifting toward it and fumbling with the key, before dropping it entirely when Marianne, still in the midst of kissing him, decided to let her hand trail a hard, hungry path down his chest to his torso to his trousers and –

Bog went nearly cross-eyed as Marianne, her touch thorough even as her cheeks were a vivid pink at her boldness, let her hand stroke and knead at his crotch, and his head fell back against the door with a hard  _thunk_ , his breath coming out in a helpless gasp. “I…thought…this…was…your…first…” he gritted out, teeth bared, eyes closed, barely holding onto any remaining control. 

“I’m not a complete innocent, I’ve heard some things…” Marianne retorted, but there was no real ire to her voice, only hungry fascination as she let her wide eyes drink in the sight of him, the almighty Big Bad Boss Bog, panting and writhing under her touch.  _Oh God…_

She felt her heartbeat thud in her ears even as she moved her hand away, Bog letting out a whine at that that almost had her laughing, only to –  _oh God, she was actually doing this_ – boldly slide it down the front of his trousers, and her mouth went dry as her fingers brushed against - he felt so – it was hot and heavy, thicker and so much bigger than what she had expected. She felt a thrill of nervousness –  _would it hurt when they…?_  - and a throb of lust and wanting.

A choked, desperate noise from Bog distracted Marianne from her thoughts, and she gazed up at him, the line of his neck taut, his jaw clenched and teeth bared, his head thrown back and his chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands frantically scrabbled for purchase against the door, nails scratching, practically undone under her fingers.  

Without a second thought, she withdrew her hand to fist both of them in his shirt, pulling him down in a hot, fierce kiss. Her hips bucked against his, the deliciously hot friction of their bodies making her nearly swoon, but then Bog grabbed her shoulders, flipping their positions and slamming her against the door, her back banging against it, one hand in her hair, the other clutching hard at her hip. Marianne gasped as he  _ground_  his hips against hers, rutting her against the door, his mouth smothering her cry of pleasure.

Their arms wrapped around each other, fumbling and groping and desperate, their kiss ferocious and oh hell, they had both wanted this, ached for this for  _so long_. Marianne wrapped a leg around his waist, her dress riding up, her garter completely exposed, trying to get him as close to her as she possibly could, while Bog pressed hard against her, grabbing her ass, pulling her against him, stroking the smooth skin of her thigh. They lost themselves in exploratory passion, sinking their full weight against the door –

There was a click and suddenly they fell in, Bog barely avoiding landing on top of Marianne, swearing as he hit his elbow while she gave out a yelp born of more of surprise than pain.

Bog gave a snarl of a groan. “I keep telling Thang to make sure he  _bloody locks that door_  –“

“Maybe it’s just broken,” Marianne suggested, tugging her skirt down and smoothing her hair, breathless. Bog snorted at that, but quickly got to his feet, and reached out a hand, which Marianne gratefully accepted.  He pulled her up, and she swayed a bit on her feet, steadying herself against him. The shock of the fall had brought them both somewhat back to reality, and Marianne glanced up the stairs, her heart pounding.

Bog noticed her look and frowned, his eyes getting worried again. “Marianne, I swear, you don’t have to -”

Quick as a flash, Marianne was on him, her kiss sweeping through him. “I told you before,” she said, her voice a heated murmur against his lips and her eyes stern, “I don’t have to do a damn thing unless I want to.  _I want you.”_ She pulled him into another kiss, almost vicious in her desire.

Bog felt that the only question that remained after that was how the hell they were going to get up the stairs without breaking their kiss.

Somehow, they managed, hands roaming and grabbing, gasping for breath between kisses, with only a few close calls. Reaching the top landing, Marianne laughed, breathless and eager and twining her arms around him, giddy with anticipation, it was finally happening -   

Bog kissed her hungrily, making her giggle turn into a moan, and kicked open the door, and they stumbled inside. Marianne broke the kiss to survey the room, momentarily distracted by her curiosity of where Bog spent his nights. She knew he had a different place, but everyone knew that The Dark Forest was his real home.  She took in the sight of the room; the desk and bedside table and messy bed, the books and bottles of bourbon scattered around, and observed, with a slight pang, how very lonely it seemed.

“Want a tour, Tough Girl?” A hint of amusement was in Bog’s voice, though hunger was still stronger.

Marianne turned back to him and grinned at the sight he made, wishing that he had turned on a light so she could fully appreciate how he looked, rumpled clothes and mussed hair, already with a faint mark on his throat from her passionate kissing. But the moonlight was as strong as it had been the night before, so she could make do quite well.  

“Sounds grand,” she replied airily, and he cocked a brow at her before she stepped back into his space and began unknotting his tie, tugging his collar open and kissing the lean line of his throat. “How about you start with the bed?” She murmured mischievously against his skin before nipping at his pulse, grinning as she felt him shudder at that. She inhaled him in and,  _oh_ , he smelled as amazing as she remembered, smoke and bourbon and something else, maybe it was cologne, something almost mossy - 

He tilted her face to his and caught her mouth in a kiss, his hands already roaming over her body in a hungry search, and the thought of him undressing her made Marianne weak, her knees threatening to give out. She melted in his arms, and Bog cradled her to him, letting himself drown in the kiss as well before walking backwards until they hit the wall, and she shivered as his hands trailed up her leg, her skirt riding up.  

They were torn between the earlier blazing fire of the need to experience as much as they could, hands scorching each other with want, and a smoldering, simmering burn to savor everything, enjoying a slow and thorough discovery, touching and tasting to their hearts content, luxuriating and reveling in the wash of both newly-awakened and long-neglected hungers, sinking into sensation. Both sides battled each other, and it was a struggle played out with smothering, open-mouthed kisses, hot and deep, and teasingly soft and dragging fingers, grabbing hands and hungry mouths, breathy sighs and bitten back growls.

But the need for more was growing, and soon Marianne began to tug at his clothes in earnest, smirking at him as she tugged his suspenders off his shoulders, tossing his tie carelessly behind her. For his part, Bog had managed to find the zip to her dress and taking his sweet time in pulling it down, feeling his groin twist with heat and his breath hitch when the silky material of her dress gave way to even silkier skin.

Marianne pulled his shirt free from his trousers and let eager fingers unbutton it, practically purring when she peeled it off him, letting it crumple to the floor and taking in the sight of him in his undershirt with hungry, satisfied eyes. “Oooh, I’ve missed this –“

Bog let out a slightly disbelieving laugh. “Christ, you still remember that?” That first meeting, stumbling out of his office, unshaven and in a state of slovenly undress, only to see her wide brown eyes taking him in. God, he had been humiliated…

“Mmm-hmm,” Marianne hummed, letting her hands stroke over his lean muscles, wiry and hard and God, he was so  _strong_. She dipped a hand beneath his shirt, and Bog moaned, head sinking back as her nails scratched over his torso, awakening nerves that he never even thought he had. She continued on in a heated murmur, lashes fanning over flushed cheeks. “I kept trying to concentrate, and you were being so rude, but even then –“  _Even then I knew you were gonna be dangerous for me._

Bog huffed out a laugh, his cheeks a bit flushed, and Marianne knew it was both bashfulness and arousal that was making his skin so hot. “You’ve got some odd tastes, Tough Girl.”

“Anyone tell you you’re cute when you blush?” That only served to make him flush even more, and Marianne chuckled, before passing curious fingers over one of the many scars he had.

“You’ve got so many of these…” Marianne murmured, her expression going a bit grave.

Bog shifted beneath her touch, nervous, and  _of course_  the scars would be something he was self-conscious about. “Comes with the territory. I was plenty reckless when I first started, and- ” His voice guttered out as Marianne pressed a soft kiss to the scar on his bicep, the healed over flesh oddly smooth beneath her lips. Bog shivered hard.  _How_  was she able to shake him to his core with just one bloody gesture, one little action?  _Nothing’s more dangerous than her._

Marianne continued from one scar to another, her lips soft and trailing over his skin, and she was being so achingly tender, her touch so innocently sensual. Caught in a paroxysm of vulnerability and lust, Bog could think of no other way to react to such care then to seize her to him in a devouring kiss, his groan almost a growl. Marianne responded fiercely, and reached between them to tug off his undershirt, trailing hungry fingers down his chest and giving a needy whine at the texture of his scars and skin.

Bog quickly set to returning the favor, peeling her dress off, the slippery fabric bunching in his hands as he tried to tug it up before Marianne stepped back and wriggled out of it, letting it pool on the floor and leaving her in her brassiere and girdle and stockings. Now it was her turn to flush, and she looked down self-consciously. She had never been so exposed in front of a man before, and she couldn’t help it, she may have fantasized about this very moment but it was nerve-wracking, it wasn’t like she had put these on with the thought of someone –  _let alone Bog!_ – seeing them–

A slow, ragged exhale from Bog made her look up, her heart thumping.

Bog knew he should say something, anything, but at that moment, he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. The sight of Marianne, her sheer dark stockings stretching up those legs of hers, her garters tight against the smooth, lean muscle of her thigh, her breasts molded and pushed up by the silky fabric of her brassiere, her cheeks flushing so beautifully, the milky complexion of her skin contrasted with the darkness of her undergarments, the soft curves and lean lines of her body begging to be touched and stroked and held –

Bog almost wished he could be struck blind, anything else he would see in this world would be nothing compared to how achingly beautiful Marianne was right then. His heart – and something else – throbbed at the sight. 

Marianne desperately wished Bog would say something, but how his eyes slowly traveled over her form damn near spoke for him. She bit her lip anyways, overwhelmed and anxious. “Um, I…I obviously didn’t know this would happen tonight –“

 _“Ye have no idea,”_  Bog interrupted, his voice hoarse with almost pained desire,  _“how bloody perfect ye are, do ye?”_

Marianne’s breath hitched in her throat, but before she could even work on trying to say something, Bog swept her up in a hard kiss, practically ravishing her mouth, and her eyes rolled back in rapture. He broke away and she was about to complain, beg for more, when he began to move down her body, mouthing along the curve of a breast, lips and teeth teasing at the plane of her stomach, his breath hot against her hipbone, kneeling before her and holding her to him, his long fingers stroking up and down her legs, his nails causing runs in her stockings, and oh God,  _oh holy God_ , she was going to faint from sheer want, she was so achingly ready, her core molten and moist and needy, and his name was a plea on her lips.  _“Bog –“_

With a snarl, he scooped her up in his arms, and she quickly wrapped her legs and arms around him once more, kicking her heels off as she kissed him so hard stars were swimming behind her eyes. Growling into the kiss, Bog bit at her lip and moved toward the bed, while his fingers worked at the clasp of her brassiere, finally getting the damn thing loose. Marianne leaned back, pulling it off frantically, before she dove back into the kiss, and Bog nearly stumbled, because the soft feel of her breasts against his skin was a sensation that he couldn’t have possibly prepared for. Moaning into her mouth, he felt himself bump into the edge of the bed and laid her down, his body quickly covering hers.

Her body arched up into his, and Bog groaned deep in his throat. Holy hell, he still had to get his shoes and trousers off, and the rest of her things. But right then…he could be greedy.

Marianne let out a whine, thrashing a bit as Bog let his fingers drag and stroke at one breast while he mouthed at the other one, his nails and teeth making her inhale in a great gasp. “Oh God,  _Bog_ –“

“Aye?” His voice was the thickest she had ever heard it.

“I’m not gonna last if you –“ She gave a sudden cry as Bog’s tongue gave a particularly deft caress across achingly sensitive skin.  _Holy hell!_

He chuckled. “I have faith in you, Tough Girl.”

She huffed out a laugh, desire making it thready, and then somehow found the strength to wriggle out from beneath him, reaching for her garters and stockings. She wanted every inch of her to feel him, nothing in the way.

Bog got off the bed, kneeling before her, the blue of his eyes both hungry and sincere. “Here, let me.”

Marianne blushed even as she gave him a slightly saucy smile, unhooking the garter and sticking out a leg. Bog savored the feel of her limb covered in the sheer hosiery, all supple curves and lean lines and warm skin, before peeling off the stocking. He pressed a kiss to her thigh, chuckling slightly at her shiver. One day he’d use his teeth to take it off, he had a feeling she’d like that - 

He made quick work of the next one before focusing his attentions on her girdle, and it was here that he paused. He had never had to work with one of these things, he wasn’t sure where to begin. He let one hand go back to her breast, making Marianne moan and close her eyes once more. Having distracted her, Bog quickly searched for something that would give him a clue how to remove the  _blasted, bloody thing_  –

“Tell you what,” Marianne gasped out, a faint smile teasing at her lips, even as she arched under his touch. “I work on that, you work on your pants.”

Bog flushed but nonetheless obeyed her, kicking off his shoes and shucking off his socks and trousers, and God,  _that_  was a relief, he had been getting almost painfully aroused in the midst of everything.

Marianne shimmied out of her girdle, tossing it aside, and suddenly found herself completely naked under Bog’s gaze, and she glanced down at him –all of him - before snapping her eyes back up to his, cheeks burning. She wasn’t scared, she wasn’t too nervous, she wanted this, she wanted it with all her heart and soul, it was just –  _it was finally happening, finally –_

Bog moved to her, drinking her in, the soft glow of her skin in the darkness, how liquid and full of fire her eyes were, how her shoulders hunched in trepidation. “Remember what I said, Tough Girl,” he murmured, drawing her close, and Marianne sank against him, her hammering heart felt by both of them. “You tell me to stop, and I will, I promise you.”

Marianne closed her eyes, his kindness and patience making her breath short. She kissed his cheek, and leaned back down on the bed, wanting to show him how much she trusted him. “Please, I want to…”

Bog stroked her hair and then leaned over her, savoring the sight of her before pushing his face down into the crook of her neck. He slowly inhaled her, one hand at her breast once more while the other stroked up and down her thigh, slowly getting closer and closer to that delicious heat that had been threatening to melt her ever since they began…

The first stroke of his fingers against her made her inhale sharply, eyes widening, and she jolted a bit. Bog made a rough, soothing noise into her hair, and Marianne made herself relax, let her body go pliant under his touch, which was quickly becoming more and more intoxicating than she could have ever imagined, even after all those nights alone in her bed, conjuring images of him while her own fingers tried to satisfy her ache. Marianne moaned, her head sinking back. Oh God, this was  _heavenly…_

Bog nearly cursed at how achingly ready she was, already hot and wet and eager under his touch, and gritted his teeth as arousal burned through him in an almost painful wave. He continued to his ministrations, letting his fingers curl and caress and rub against the achingly sensitive spot, each touch sending Marianne into a spasm of pleasure, her breath coming in great heaving gasps, her hips jerking helplessly under his hand. He wanted her so badly, ached for her with every inch of him, but he was determined to make this as pleasurable for her as possible – she deserved nothing less. “C’mon, Tough Girl…” he murmured thickly, moving his face so he could drink in her expression, her eyes closed in rapture, her mouth open in a silent cry.

Marianne bucked under him as one of his nails dragged across her sweet spot, and she cried out. “Oh God, B-Bog, I –  _this_ –“

“Do you need me to stop?” He could do it; he could if she needed him to, even with his body torturing him with want.

“Never,” she gritted out, her teeth bared in pleasure. “Never never never –“

Bog swore and let his palm drag against her, and it was almost too much for him, seeing her so wild and lost in ecstasy because of him,  _how was this night even real_  –

Marianne’s pleasure built and built until it crested like a wave, and she cried out, loudly, her back arching off the bed.  _“OH GOD, OH - **YESSSS!”**_

She fell back to the bed, panting. He gathered her to him, stroking her back, kissing her brow, and she shuddered in his arms, her vision blurry, spots dancing in front of her eyes. It had been – she had had no idea– it had been like stars exploding under her skin, like fire pouring through her – how on earth could something be so utterly  _gorgeous_ , so excruciatingly  _wonderful -?_

She moaned, her body was almost limp with pleasure, and suddenly became aware that Bog had done nothing for himself, nothing to ease his own need, had spent all his attention on her. Marianne roused herself and pulled him into a kiss, hunger and gratitude coursing through her. She sighed dreamily, nuzzling against him. “Mmm…Bog?”

“Aye?” Bog murmured, brushing a kiss against her ear.

Marianne drew back and gave him a smile, satisfaction and hunger in its curve. “My turn.”

And with that, her hand dipped down and began to stroke him.

Bog immediately stiffened in her arms, before a fierce shudder went through him. His voice was ragged when he spoke.  _“Marianne_  –“

“How long has it been for you?” Marianne asked curiously, even as her fingers curled and caressed and teased, even as her sheer boldness made some part of her, the part of her who had never quite given up on being a proper lady of society, want to die from sheer shock. Good girls didn’t do this, proper ladies certainly didn’t, but Marianne had stopped giving a damn about what society wanted, what everyone expected of her. Let her be seen as fiery and too bold, let her be different and drawn to danger, if it gave her  _this, **him**_  –

 _“Too long,”_  Bog managed to get out before sinking to the mattress, clawing at the sheets desperately, and she leaned over him, fascinated.   

It was as through the shock of her sheer audacity that evening, coupled with the bliss that Bog had coaxed from her, had melded together and brought her to a point of transcendence, a state of ravenous hypersensitivity. She was in the grips of such concentrated, clear desire that she was no longer troubled by nerves and was simply able to let herself enjoy everything about this.

Her eyes were large and rapt and became increasingly glazed as she watched the play of emotions over Bog’s face, his sharp features caught in a grimace of pleasure so great it almost verged on pain. His teeth were clenched; his breath came in ragged gasps, and oh God, the feel of his skin beneath her touch…

Marianne had had no idea that skin could get so hot, so wonderfully sensitive, and she dragged her fingers down his length,  _hard,_  and he  _whimpered_ , she had made him  _whimper_ , and oh God, this was  _amazing_ ,  _she_  was doing this to him, she was making  _him_ , of all people, respond like  _this!_

A taste of power, even a brief one, can be intoxicating, and Marianne quickly found herself wanting more, more of making him shudder under her touch, more of making him react like she was shaking him to his very bones, more more more, she wanted everything,  _wanted to give him everything_  -

She dazedly licked her lips and let her palm rub against him, and he jerked against her touch, almost shouting before his voice broke.

“Tell me what you want,” Marianne murmured, her voice catching in her throat, “I want to – if there’s anything I can – tell me what you want, Bog.”

 _“You,”_  and  _oh_ , the answer seemed torn from him, voice ragged and raw and heart-achingly vulnerable, and he pulled her to him and pinned her to the mattress, covering her shoulders, her collarbone, her neck and face with desperate kisses. “Just you.” 

Marianne almost wanted to sob at that, but instead licked a long, hot path up his neck, chasing after his pulse and  _oh God_ , he tasted as wonderful as he smelled, smoky and salty from sweat and something that made Marianne inexplicably think of the woods –

Bog shuddered, and his hips nudged at hers, and without hesitation Marianne let them fall open, even as her breath quickened from nerves along with want.

Bog saw the flash of apprehension on her face and quickly bent to kiss her comfortingly, while his hand went back between her legs, softly stroking her once again. She shivered helplessly, feeling the same gorgeous pleasure from before, and she was so hot, so desperate, it was almost intolerable and she wanted to satisfy it  _now_ , right now – “Bog,  _please_ , I’m ready –“

He gave a ragged growl at both her pleading and how obviously true her words were – she was ready, she was, and all he had to do was –

He let himself rock against her, and Marianne moaned in dazed rapture at how deliciously hard he was, how much he wanted her, her head falling back on the pillow. “ _Please –“_

Knowing that if he hesitated any longer, it would get painful for the both of them, Bog gritted out a curse and slowly, carefully sunk into her. He froze before groaning deep in his throat, helpless and hungry and overwhelmed and  _holy hell, **holy fucking hell** ,_ the  _heat_ of her, the _feel_  of her around him, it was –

Marianne squirmed beneath him, her body going stiff at the unfamiliar sensation. She was ready, she had been ready, Bog had made sure, but this – he filled her, pushed at her, pulling at her nerves in a way that she simply couldn’t be prepared for -

Caught between excruciating pleasure and that pinching pressure, Marianne let out a faint noise of distress.

Bog froze and then hastily tried to pull back.

 _“Don’t!”_  Marianne cried out, grabbing at him, her desperation making her claw at his back. “Don’t don’t don’t, it’s alright, I just –! I just had no idea –“

Bog still leaned back. “I told you, if you get hurt, you tell me to –“

“You want to listen to me?” Marianne snarled out, closing her eyes as his movements made a slow roll of pleasure begin to drown out the discomfort. “Listen to me now and  _don’t stop_.”

Torn between aching want and genuine concern of pushing her too far, Bog nonetheless listened to her and let himself come back, shallowly rolling his hips against hers, and they both groaned at the sensations that movement elicited. Marianne made her body relax, let her hips rock against his, making him shiver, and while some tightness and pulling pressure remained, it was beginning to melt under the combined force them into something intoxicating, something wonderful, something so close she felt she could reach out and grab it.

She wasn’t sure when it happened, when it finally hit her, but all Marianne knew was that one minute she was clinging to the sheets beneath her in turmoil and the next she was throwing her head back, pleasure flooding through her, her body arching up to meet his, desperately trying to take him deeper. Her blood was singing through her, heat pulsing, and she moaned shamelessly, straining for him.

Bog let out a growl, eyes squeezed shut, rasping out her name. “ _Marianne_ –“

 _“Bog,”_  she moaned out, eyes rolling back, and the way she rolled her hips had him snarling. He couldn’t stop himself from rocking into her hard, and she wailed at it. Guilt and want burned at him, he shouldn’t -

 _“More,”_  she gasped, biting at his neck, his jaw, his ear, hands desperately pulling at his shoulders. “More like that, I want – I can take it, I want you to –“

Bog’s concerns were only so strong, and such pleas dissolved them entirely. He grasped her hips, his nails biting into her skin, and let himself surrender to his desire, pounding into her, hard and fierce and deep. Marianne gasped with each movement, a counterpoint to his harsh, snarling breaths – he was  _fucking_  her, there was no other word for it, and she  _loved_  it.

Her body quickly joined his, skin slick with sweat, in the aching rhythm, and she became aware that she was making all sorts of noises, moaning and mewling and gasping out his name,  _oh yes oh please more more more oh Bog yes yes yes_  –

He smothered her mouth with his, messy and earnest and desperate, their teeth clicking, but both of them were lost, pleasure coursing through each of them like a brushfire. Her hand found his and they let their fingers entwine, and she felt her pleasure begin to build, more and more, and moaned. “Bog, I’m –“

“Ye’re alrigh’,” he murmured, his accent impossibly thick and his tone achingly tender, “Ye’re alrigh’, luv –“

She thrashed beneath him, so close. “ _Oh God –“_

Bog could feel his own release baring down on him, and he grit his teeth, determined that she would get hers first. “Ye’re almost there –“

She was, she could feel it, it was cresting in her like a wave, rolling through her like a fire, and she was burning, completely aflame with what he was giving her. He suddenly shifted, and the new angle had Marianne almost screaming.  _“BOG -!”_

He had thought he could hold on, thought he could stay strong, but then her fingers of her free hand dragged down his spine, nails raking against him, and he  _shuddered_ , his eyes rolling back, and any vestige of control was lost and -

Their orgasms crashed over them at the same time, flooding senses and blazing through them, savage and glorious and triumphant, her wailing and him nearly roaring, their bodies curling around each other. They clung to each other afterwards, panting hard. Their hands were still clasped…

Her head still thrown back, Marianne couldn’t catch her breath, didn’t want to open her eyes, she was so – they had – oh God,  _that_ was what all the fuss was about - 

Bog groaned, head falling down on her shoulder, feeling himself sink against her. He knew that he should roll off of her, he didn’t want to crush her, but…he didn’t want to let go, didn’t want any feel on his skin except hers…

Marianne finally caught her breath and exhaled gustily. She looked down at where Bog had collapsed against her and felt such a rush of emotion, fierce and tender and grateful, it almost made her breathless all over again. She stroked his hair and kissed his brow, wishing she could convey what she was feeling right then. He had no idea what he had given her…

_I love him._

Marianne closed her eyes, her heart giving a hard little twist. Not now. That could wait. It was too soon for that. Just…just enjoy this. But her touch was still tender as she continued to stroke him, letting her fingers slip back down to his spine.

Bog was able to shake of the post-coital haze enough to shiver under her touch, her fingers dragging lightly, sending little pinpricks of pleasure as opposed to the ravenous heat that had been consuming them earlier. He sighed hard, lifting his head up a bit, looking down at their hands, still joined. Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted them and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles. He felt her breath catch at that, and he was in so much trouble, he could already feel it in his heart, and now knew  _why_  she had always been such a source of danger.  _Love is dangerous._

He closed his eyes at that, before breathing out once more. He would worry about that later, right now Marianne was shifting beneath him, making him hiss. He drew away from her, and she shivered at the sudden loss of him, the air cool on her dewy skin. His blue eyes gazed down in her gorgeous brown ones, heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion, the earlier fire in them dimmed to a soft glow of gratification and, dare he say it, happiness.

Bog lay back down, next to her, and they simply took each other in, drinking in the sight of their afterglow. Bog’s long fingers brushed her hair away from her face, and he quirked a slight smile at how she had lost all of her lipstick, though her lips were still red and swollen, her eyes smudged and smoky as she gazed at him. Marianne ran a hand through his hair, before letting it trail down his jaw, his stubble deliciously rough against her palm. The gesture wasn’t hungry, but loving, and they both felt a keen, sweet pain go through them, and both tried to conceal it from the other.

Bog cleared his throat, feeling he should say something. “So…tha’ was…” he trailed off, not sure how to continue.

“Perfect.” Marianne finished, her mouth curving at how his voice was still thick.

Bog couldn’t stop the how his heart leapt at her words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…” Marianne snuggled up to him, her back facing his chest, and he drew an arm around her, holding her close. She savored the warmth, before biting her lip and hesitatingly venturing, “And…I was…?”

“Bloody well beyond perfect, Tough Girl.”  

She grinned, wriggling closer to him, delight coursing through her. “Yeah?”

“Aye.” He brushed his lips against the nape of her neck, and she could feel his soft smile. “I would even dare to say Perfect is quite jealous.”

She snorted. “You always this ridiculous after sex?”

“Only with you.” His fingers trailed down her arm, and she shivered at both his touch and his tone.

She felt his hand brush against hers, and she immediately grasped it, letting their fingers slide together, studying how they looked in the moonlight, hers slender and pale and his long and rough with calluses and the odd scar. They were so different, but so nothing could have felt more right…

She brushed a kiss against his knuckles, and felt him give a little growl of contentment. She smiled softly and let herself sink back into him, her eyes growing heavy in sleepy satisfaction.   

They stayed like that, him cradling her, their chests rising and falling with each other. Neither one let themselves think about what would happen now, what tomorrow may bring, nor what their respective hearts would demand of them later. Right then, this was enough.

Bog had already been claimed by sleep as Marianne nuzzled deeper into his embrace, her eyes blurry as she looked at the cool glow of moonlight against their skins, skin that had burned so hotly but now merely gave warmth. She smiled suddenly, soft and sleepy, as a certain song came back to her.

  _Sun lights up the daytime,_

_Moon lights up the night…”_

* * *

_“I light up when you call my name,_

_And you know I’m gonna treat you right…”_

A few whistles cut through the nightclub, and Marianne smirked, sprawling on top of the piano, one high heel keeping tempo with the strong bass line. The song was proving to be a big hit, just like Sunny and she had hoped. But as she continued the song, her voice smooth and smoky and sultry, it wasn’t for the club goers that she was singing…

Thang nudged Stuff at the back of the great room, both of them hidden in the shadows, as was their habit. “She’s doing a swell job tonight, ain’t she?”

Stuff nodded, her grin appreciative. Miss Marianne always made sure to put on a heck of a show. Maybe it was the song, maybe it was just a good night for her, but she could have sworn the chanteuse was practically glowing up on the stage, the spotlight making her brunette locks glimmer and her dress sparkle like mad. But it was more than just that…tonight…something was different.

_“You give me fever_

_When you kiss me,_

_Fever when you hold me tight…“_

Marianne let her body arch back, curving in a sinuous line, and some more appreciative murmurs and whistles went through the club as she let her hands glide down her body. Stuff raised an eyebrow. Marianne always gave herself over to a song, let herself embody each melody, but this was provocative even for her.  In fact, her whole air tonight was decidedly more… _sensual_  than usual. Thang didn’t notice and simply enjoyed the song, humming along to it. Stuff rolled her eyes. It was obviously something only feminine intuition picked up on.

“The Boss seems to like it too!” Thang observed, poking Stuff and pointing to where the Boss sat, half hidden in the shadows at the table in the far back.

Indeed, there was a definite smirk to Bog’s face as he watched the stage, blue eyes tracking each movement of Marianne’s - the glitter of her gown, the slide of her legs, each arch of her body, her fingers sliding down her neck…

Stuff looked over, and once again felt something tease at her brain. It wasn’t too strange to see the Boss watching the show, especially if Miss Marianne was performing, but…the look on his face was new. Normally he just looked grim and almost hungry - though Lord knew why - but tonight…

Thang prattled on. “Actually, he’s been in a really good mood lately, have you noticed?  I wonder why? Business has been good, but not that good.”

Stuff was about to respond when Marianne’s voice cut through the smoke and hum of the club, her legs flashing as she laid back fully on the table, supine and sensual.

 _“_ _Now you’ve listened to my story_

  _Here’s the point that I have made…”_

She let a hand trail down the line of her body, tracing over curves. Brown eyes smoldered out over the crowd, flashing fire as she looked for one person in particular.

_"Chicks were born to give you fever_

  _Be it Fahrenheit or centigrade_

_They give you fever_

_When you kiss them…”_

Stuff’s eyes traveled between Marianne – smirking like a cat over cream, her body curving under her touch like it was a pair of lovers hands rather than her own – and the Boss – leaning forward in his chair, his own smirk growing into a smile, sharp and hungry-edged, his eyes burning blue – and felt the numbness of shock ripple through her.  _Oh, holy…_

“Yeah…” she muttered faintly. “Wonder why…”

Back on the stage, Marianne continued to sing, practically purring out the melody, her eyes never leaving Bog’s. She could already feel the frisson of heat between them, a new flame in need of satisfaction, and wondered briefly if her dressing room had a lock.

_“Fever if you live and learn_

_Fever till you sizzle…_

_What a lovely way to burn…”_

Her voice was a low, heated promise.

_“What a lovely way to burn…”_


End file.
